tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-156775502018-03-05T09:43:04.295-06:00My Personal HeavenA slight peek into the world of me, my family, and our daily happenings.....Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.comBlogger112125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-91403482889618770782011-02-15T18:02:00.000-06:002011-02-15T18:02:36.577-06:00Just Because<span style="font-size: large;">Just wanted to say HELLOOOOO!! to my newest followers! I'll also go ahead and apologize for any foul language that I seem to be prone to when blogging about certain events, people, and topics in my life. I can't wait to see who I scare off first! :)</span><script src="http://cdn.widgetserver.com/syndication/subscriber/InsertWidget.js" type="text/javascript"></script><script type="text/javascript">if (WIDGETBOX) WIDGETBOX.renderWidget('b874624e-429d-49f5-ac66-2c9cccf3c4c9'); </script> <noscript></noscript>Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-19168569335551115652011-01-20T21:06:00.002-06:002011-01-20T21:23:56.900-06:00Kids Will Be KidsIf you wanna know what's wrong with the children of the world today, take a good hard look at their parents. I'm not talking about the occasional 3 year old in the grocery store screaming for a pop-tart; No, I'm referring to the "thugs" and "gangsters" that seem to never have anything better to do with their time than loiter. Usually disrespectful and almost always underage, their language is horrible, pants falling around their ankles, and generally wouldn't know how to form a proper sentence. Since when is, "Yo, what up, dawg!" a proper greeting? Where the hell are their parents? I'm not by any means a perfect parent or any kind of expert on the issue, but I damn sure know my child won't be loitering at the local gas station or Wal-Mart at all hours of the night. I've seen some people blame the general lack of respect on rap music, the latest movies, and the ever-present sensationlized video gaming industy. I enjoy some Left 4 Dead and Call of Duty every once in a while and I seem to be able to form proper sentences, wear clothes that fit (minus some cleavage) and respect my elders. I'm pretty much convinced these wayward kids have never had a good ole fashioned ass-whipping. Now, don't start beating your kids with wooden spoons yet. (That was my Mom's weapon of choice) These days, you simply can't spank your child in public, let them bounce around in the backseat without a seatbelt, or leave them home alone while you earn a living. The world as we know it has rapidly grown more violent and unpredictable. Should we blame the economy or President? How about, we blame ourselves. Quit having children you cannot afford. Quit expecting the government to provide for your family. Get off your ass and get a job (McDonald's hires almost anyone) Those kids that you do have, take the damn cellphone out of their hand, the game controllers too, and spend some freaking quality time with them. Go to the park, take them fishing, or fly a damn kite. It takes a very involved parent to raise a respectful, productive member of society. Now, we can argue socioeconomical issues all day. The fact is, you have to be willing to rise above the prejudices and work your ass off to get ahead. This is true for ANY member of every race and class. These "thugs" and "gangsters" are nothing but bored children dying for attention from their parents. Does it really take that much effort to sit down and talk to your child for 20 minutes a day? Didn't think so.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-68109257929651671402011-01-18T15:44:00.003-06:002011-01-18T16:10:09.992-06:00The Heart of the ProblemWhat is it about the primal need to run when you sense trouble heading your way? The fear of not knowing the outcome, or the ridiculous mindset of thinking you can't handle whatever may come. I've heard it said that "If God brings you to it, he'll bring you through it." This may be true, but the real responsibility lies within. If you aren't smart enough to keep yourself out of trouble, then you should be resourceful enough to figure a way out. Most personal troubles are caused by the one with the problem. Sure, people are gonna run their mouth and create as much animosity as they can. You have to be the bigger person. I've had the unfortunate pleasure of knowing a few of these trouble-makers in my day. Some might say I was one myself at one point in time. The good thing about growing a year older each year is that we also grow wiser. Or you're supposed to. You have to learn from past mistakes and make the best out of the life you've created for yourself. Admitting you're the victim of your own circumstance is hard. It's too easy to blame the dog, the kids, the husband, or the crazy ex. I'm guilty of this myself. It's become too easy to blame my unhappiness on others. It's too easy to start and argument in order to create a fast distraction from the real problems at hand. I haven't always been as honest with myself, or others, as I have this past year. I'm brutally honest to the point of some thinking that I'm a horrible person. One person likes to tell me that I need to think of other's feelings before answering whatever question that's been asked of me. I'm sorry, but if you ask me if you look fat in something and you do, I'll tell you so. Why ask if you expect me to lie or spare your feelings? You know damn well you look fat in it. You don't need my input to make yourself feel better. Most people think I have been given an amazing life and should have no complaints. From the outside looking in, this might appear true. Sure, I have an amazing home with no mortgage payment. I have 2 paid off vehicles and 1 beautiful daughter. Money doesn't buy happiness or security. I'd be happier on 10 acres somewhere with cows, chickens, and dogs running loose in front of a home that was built from scratch. My one-time model home in our middle class suburban <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">subdivison</span> is simply by chance. The house was bought by my mother in law and is held in our family trust. In all reality, I am a victim of my own circumstance. I rushed into motherhood and marriage with a man I'd barely known. I passed up two lucrative job offers in favor of being a stay at home mother, and I quit a well-paying job too. I've created this life. My own decisions, whether good or bad, have led me directly to where I'm sitting now. Looking back, I'd change a few of those <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">decisons</span>, but never my choice to become a mother. If life isn't supposed to be about what designer clothes you wear, what type of car you drive, or how much your bank account is holding, then why is it? Why can't it just be simple; family, friends, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">BBQ's</span>, and children. People drive themselves into debt and unhappiness chasing the "American Dream", but I have those things and it's not any better. The grass isn't always greener on the other side. I got myself into this "dream" and I'll work my way out. It may take months or a couple years, but until I can go to bed at night and know that all I've got is the result of my own <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">hardwork</span>, I won't be happy. Call me a spoiled brat, I call it an honest attempt at creating a good foundation for my daughter.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-47687096453872510292010-09-03T10:52:00.004-05:002010-09-03T11:17:16.268-05:00The Grown Up Things<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/TIEc0CTBoaI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/8S0_cqN5IGA/s1600/Sept2009+025.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512719099173642658" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/TIEc0CTBoaI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/8S0_cqN5IGA/s320/Sept2009+025.jpg" /></a><br /><div> Wow, where have I been these last seven months? I can tell you where I haven't been, here and in Hell. Time seems to slip through my fingers when I'm chasing down my 3 year old and working. There's been some ups and downs along the road and some things have yet to work themselves out, but what's done is done. The world is always going spin and we're always going to co-exist. I'm a firm believer in "if it's mean to be, it'll happen" but I also am extremely impatient. So, in the Lollipop Guild when things don't start the way I'd want them to or WHEN I want them to, I tend to start kicking and screaming like an angry toddler who was just told they couldn't have an ice cream in the grocery store. I'm starting to realize that things can't always be MY way. There needs to be a two-way street of give and take and when everything falls into place, I'll be where I need to be. It takes hard work to remain civil with people you can't stand and to calmly hold your tongue when all you really want to do is scream "What the hell is your problem, jerk?!" This too goes along with not getting what you want when you want it. Most of you have probably learned this lesson early on and I'm showing up late to the party with a half empty six pack asking "Who's ready to party?" That's just me, I've always done things in my own time and how I want them to be done. Apparently, once you have children that shit goes out the window. I now run on Addi-time. It's 24/7 what she wants and when she wants it. Howcome nobody ever told me how selfish my child would be? Who is she to think I have to jump when she says? I'M the one that used to make people jump. She pulled the ole' switcheroo on me. I really wouldn't have it any other way. People keep saying, or at least I hear this quite often on Teen Mom, "you have to grow up, you have a child now." I think I pretty much did just that. It's all about her, what makes her happy, what makes her laugh, and what is best for her. And, there it is. My lame ass excuse as to why I haven't sat down in 7 months and updated this. I don't think it's exactly "lame" but you can call it whatever you want. </div><div> </div><div>Hellooooo...is this thing on? Can you hear me?</div>Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-36648514207590372352010-02-17T19:32:00.003-06:002010-02-17T20:15:55.686-06:00The Rundown on Me<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/S3yZQ6rhILI/AAAAAAAAAEA/b-5uLtrLSJI/s1600-h/July31st+016.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439390965865455794" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/S3yZQ6rhILI/AAAAAAAAAEA/b-5uLtrLSJI/s320/July31st+016.jpg" /></a><br /><div>Ohhh....where to begin. Life isn't a peachy keen as it was during my last post. My beautiful baby girl is 2 1/2 years old now. She's the spitting image of me; mean like me; bossy like me; and 110% demonic. She's growing so fast and it's unreal how much she changes each day. Her new favorite saying? "Fuck off!" Yeah, I don't need to hear it from anyone, I already know. Mommy has a potty mouth and now my baby girl does too. I make an honest effort to censor what I say around her, but she always manages to be around when I slip. Hell, I'm only human and I figure her potty mouth is way better than her having a raging crack habit. My once happy marriage has now dissolved into mush...on my doing. I honestly don't think I was ever truly happy there. I think it was too fast and too much for me and it all kinda hit home at a time where I was more than capable of taking care of myself and my mini-monster. It wasn't an overnight ordeal either. It'd been coming for awhile and I tried and tried to fight it, but in the end, my own selfishness and need for independance won. As always. I'm happy now. My feet are cold at night, but I'll manage. Addi is happy, she isn't showing many signs of stress or shock from us moving out so I guess doing this while she was still pretty young was best for her. She loves her Daddy. All little girls do. I don't think him and I were ever supposed to live together and be together forever; however I do believe everything happens for a reason and whatever that reason is we have an amazingly well-rounded daughter together. Him and I don't see eye-to-eye on a lot of things (and no, my miniature stature has nothing to do with this) and in the end, our vast differences were too big for me to ignore any longer. He didn't want this, but being the selfish asshole I am, I didn't take his opinion into consideration when I made my choice to leave. He's been pretty OK with the last few months though. He sees Addi when he's not working and that's all I ask of him. Enough with that now..</div><div> </div><div>Work: I LOVE my job. I work with a great group of people who make me laugh hysterically everyday and who drive me batshit crazy all at the same time. Who the hell would've thought that merchant processing was any kind of fun?! Actually, its not; it's highly stressful, emotionally and mentally demanding, and ridiculously repetitive, but my co-workers make it fun. We all get along great (with the exception of this one old bag) and we truly enjoy working with each other. Oh, and they bring in a massage therapist every once in a while so we can all get a little rubdown. No happy ending included.</div><div> </div><div>School: I'm like INCHES away from my Bachelor's Degree. I cannot wait to graduate and join the world of criminal investigation. I live for bloody, gory messes and I'm looking forward to throwing a few scumbags to the ground and holding my gun to their head. Seriously, and especially those sick fucks who prey on little children. Watch out, perv!</div><div> </div><div>Life in General: I'm here. I'm happy. I'm living. I've got this one guy that lives in the land of sand stuck in my head for some reason lately. I have no clue why. I haven't talked to him in probably 3 years. Every once in a while he'll pop into my head and stay for a few weeks. I talked to his Mom today and left my number for him. I hear he's still playing around halfway across the world, but should be back in town on Monday. She gave me his number, but who knows. Maybe he'll call and maybe he'll get the message and not even have a clue who the hell I am. Eitherway, it makes me feel better knowing he's still alive. He was so much fun back then. He kept me company at work (or got me in a lot of trouble while I was there because we'd talk for so long) I kinda miss him. Funny thing is, when he's home; we only live about 45 minutes apart.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div>Here's to you, Cupcake. I heard you're alive and doing well and that makes me smile. If you're reading this, your mom has my number. </div>Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-22092014671265095962008-10-20T21:39:00.000-05:002008-10-20T21:40:43.226-05:00Mayo and Beer, Please<div align="center">The Mayonnaise Jar &amp; 2 Beers</div>When things in your life seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the 2 Beers.<br /><br /> A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.<br /><br /> The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.<br /><br /> The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with an unanimous 'yes.'<br /><br /> The professor then produced two Beers from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.'Now,' said the professor as the laughter subsided, 'I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things---your family, your children, your health, your friends and your favorite passions---and if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.<br /><br /> The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car.The sand is everything else---the small stuff. 'If you put the sand into the jar first,' he continued, 'there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff you will never have room for the things that are important to you.'Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Spend time with your children. Spend time with your parents. Visit with grandparents. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your spouse out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first---the things that really matter. Set your priorities.<br /><br /> The rest is just sand.'One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the Beer represented. The professor smiled and said, 'I'm glad you asked.'The Beer just shows you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of Beers with a friend.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-17782712197058082582008-07-27T22:31:00.002-05:002008-07-27T22:37:20.578-05:00School's Out For Summer.....Well Not For MeThe kids may be singing from the mountain tops, forgetting about their 8pm bedtimes, and cramming in double time video games and movies. I, however, am hard and fast into college and have yet to have a break. My summer break, you ask? In two weeks. I get one week off. ONE WEEK! WTH?! I guess these are the days of being a responsible adult and doing the things I need to in order to provide a better life for my child and family. I'm positive I'll love the salary I'll have after graduation and I find a job in the "corporate world" of lawyers and paralegals. I know I love my profession. I don't know which field I'll go into yet. Gone are my days of trying a job for a few weeks and then bailing when I don't like the hours or the people I must co-exsist with for 8-10 hours a day. I'll have to suck it up and seriously think about my choice of career. Family law? Social work? Eitherway, I'll be drowning in paperwork, putting in long unaccustomed hours, and hopefully be driving the car of my dreams in a few short months. Yes, I still work from home. Yes, I still love it. I'm starting to feel like I am going to school for nothing. To have something to fall back on? Sure. I'm sleepy, the kids are in bed and I am dying for my pillow.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-38672836183879391832008-07-23T21:38:00.002-05:002008-11-13T03:14:47.768-06:00The Depths of The Dead...In Blog Land<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/SIfz7n3kGcI/AAAAAAAAACY/kTU_MPnE2nw/s1600-h/IMG_0001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226414098226616770" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/SIfz7n3kGcI/AAAAAAAAACY/kTU_MPnE2nw/s320/IMG_0001.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>So this penchant of mine for being hilariously funny (in my own head at least and to my 1 year old daughter) off the wall, blunt, and my "I don't give a crap" attitude has taken a backseat for the last year now. If you'll scroll down a post and notice the date, it's been almost 1 year to the day since I've last posted. My reason you ask? I know to some of you there is not one good reason on God's green Earth that I could have left you...some new man? a hot new job? new boobs? (not yet, but soon) The reason for my lacksadazical approach to my "home away from home"..my daughter. Scroll down again and take a look at her b-e-a-utiful face. Don't stare too hard or you'll catch a glimpse of my pickachu that my digital-camera-retarded Mother caught. "Oh my God, Meghan!" is her answer to my picking on her. She might've done it on purpose to give the world a glance at what they'll never have, she could've been trying to get a close up of the tattoo I've sworn up and down to my Aunt that I DO NOT have, or she might just be physically incapable of operating the zoom function on my camera. Eitherway, the main thing is that you can see my Addi Greyce. **Back on to the topic now**</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I've taken this last year and just simply enjoyed the laid-back country feel of my new life as a Mother and wife. Waking up beside my "lovies" as I refer to my husband and daughter has been an absolute blessing and my saving grace. Two years ago you could've caught my closing down the local honky-tonk and sneaking back into my own apartment at about dawn. No, I wasn't the loose hussy that everyone could've sworn I was. I just love to dance. 99% of the time I'd not even had a drop of alcohol. Ok, I did sleep with this one chick's boyfriend. ONE TIME! It was a mistake and I so regret it....he wasn't even that good; or well endowed. SHUT UP, MEGHAN! Sorry, there are those impulsivities again. Maybe I need meds. Back AGAIN to tonight's subject.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Addisen has been the most love I've ever known. She is the smartest baby I've ever met and I'm more in love with her today than I was yesterday. She knows her sign language (we watch Baby Einstein), and her personality is so hilarious and fun-loving. She is my child. Ok, I know every mommy that has ever walked this Earth has said the same things about their spawns, well I don't assume Andrea Yates felt the same, Sorry! Bad joke. If you haven't met my Addi, you need to. Her smile lights up the room and her laughter is God's way of telling me I've done something right in my life.</div>Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-29697682684443121292007-07-26T09:33:00.000-05:002007-07-26T09:37:16.163-05:00My Baby Girl<a href="http://i198.photobucket.com/albums/aa125/MLance12107/addi3.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://i198.photobucket.com/albums/aa125/MLance12107/addi3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://i198.photobucket.com/albums/aa125/MLance12107/addi4.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://i198.photobucket.com/albums/aa125/MLance12107/addi4.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-3650253376302212572007-03-09T13:55:00.000-06:002008-11-13T03:14:48.115-06:00In His Tears<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/RfG8JgJEpbI/AAAAAAAAAB0/oj_6gl8rM68/s1600-h/IMG_2588.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040016329437128114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/RfG8JgJEpbI/AAAAAAAAAB0/oj_6gl8rM68/s320/IMG_2588.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:85%;">One tear hits the hardwood; it shatters like glass</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">A shot of whiskey sits; medicine for the pain</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Another shattered heart; he feels like such an ass</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The drink isn't working; her memory remains.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">He stumbles to the sink; slowly pours it down the drain</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">A box of photographs on the table; constant reminders</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She should be here today; he knows he is to blame</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">If only he could get past this; like some sort of blinder</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">He slams a fist into the wall; then screams out</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">He's staring at the phone; damn it why won't it ring</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">He hears her voice; knowing its his heart full of doubt</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">If only she was here; because seeing is believing</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">A swerving car jerks him back; it's reality once more</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Her sweet voice whispers; she knows she's gone</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The cemetery shines; a haven and heaven's door</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Restless sleep seeing her; he prays for the dawn</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">A screen door slams in the wind; a car pulls into the drive</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Cool wind rushes over him; suddenly she's standing there</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She whispers in his ear, "I love you."; he believes she is alive </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">But in his mind he wonders; is this reality or a terrible nightmare?</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">He can smell her perfume; her face he can feel</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She's in his arms; but for how long</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">It's an illusion he's certain, but damn it seems so real</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Something seems out of place; he knows she doesn't belong</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Tossing and turning; he awakes with no breath and a sharp pain</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">He smells like her; her lipstick is on his face</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Suddenly it hits him; he's visited her on an astrological plane</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Their love was true and real; nobody will ever take her place</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Matters of the heart, so simple yet complicated</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She's been gone for a while; going on twenty years</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">He's prayed for this moment; he's waited and waited</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She knew he needed her; she could see it in his tears</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She's watched over him since the day; he'd always managed so well</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">These past few years have taken their toll; they'll be together soon</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">His drinking has gotten bad; especially since he last fell</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She's come to take him with her; once restless night in June.</span><br /><p><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p>Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-83885614353180267672007-02-27T13:42:00.000-06:002008-11-13T03:14:48.261-06:00Addi Greyce<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/ReSJpgV6qUI/AAAAAAAAABo/lu0IqbFLZok/s1600-h/100_0190.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036301629456558402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/ReSJpgV6qUI/AAAAAAAAABo/lu0IqbFLZok/s320/100_0190.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br />Here's another one of Addisen. She was a little pissed in this one because the mean 'ole ultrasound man shook her to get her to move her hands from her face. She's repeatedly kicking the crap out of my bladder when this was taken! She seems to be just a stubborn as her Mommy already.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-24870305681414220012007-02-27T13:40:00.000-06:002008-11-13T03:14:48.521-06:00Addisen Greyce<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/ReSJWAV6qTI/AAAAAAAAABc/O7SdDeYoI6g/s1600-h/100_0191.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036301294449109298" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/ReSJWAV6qTI/AAAAAAAAABc/O7SdDeYoI6g/s320/100_0191.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br />It's Addisen sucking her thumb. She is 20 weeks and 3 days old now. She's 10 ounces and growing bigger and bigger everyday!Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-15699610811955138002007-02-23T17:14:00.000-06:002007-02-23T17:28:07.832-06:00emotionally UN-stable<span style="font-size:85%;">Looking back on where I've been in this life and where I plan to go, I realized, there's not a whole lot standing in my way. Well, unless you count my ever-expanding belly and the baby I'll deliver in about four months. But I don't personally consider that a "roadblock". Got me? Yea, I'm sure that will cause a minor slow down but won't necessarily put a permanent hault to my lifelong goals. It seems I've had oodles and gobs of time to sit around and think about what I want, what I need, and how I'm going to achieve these things since I left my job at the bank. Do I miss work? Hell yes. Do I want to go back right this very instant? Hell no. I'm quite content here in the present, but it just seems there is a lot of time for thinking. Even this damn blog, I could've updated it a million times already, but chose not to. I used to be able to sit down and write for hours, with no subject in mind or direction to be taken. Just write. Just relax. Nowadays, I couldn't write to save my life. I've hit a block and I don't like it. I've got all these pent up emotions and feelings screaming "LET ME OUT YOU CRAZY BITCH!!", and I can't seem to write 'em all down fast enough or even at all. Here they are, swirling around, taunting me and I can do anything but choke back the tears because I can't make 'em go away. Ok, I forsee about a million "prozac, zoloft, wellbutrin, and paxil" jokes headed my way, but I can't help it. Hell, if you are one of those "medicated" people like I used to be (No harm in being medicated!) then you know what I'm talking about. The never-ending fight for silence in your head. Even when I sleep they don't go away. I wake up still thinking about some problem or feeling. Where's your husband, you ask? HA HA!!! That's really a funny question because even when I do try and talk to him, he doesn't understand. As most men wouldn't. It's not about any one thing in particular or any one person..it's just a whole lotta EVERYTHING. Overwhelmed. Someone needs to plop my ass down in the center of group therapy, give me a pink straight-jacket, and let me just TALK TALK TALK TALK TALK!! Hell, at this point I could talk to a wall. I should probably quit while I am ahead and go cook dinner. Everyone has these problems, right? Everyone needs a hug sometimes, right? Yeah, that's what I thought.</span>Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-17085477026686787922007-02-07T14:05:00.000-06:002008-11-13T03:14:49.347-06:00Just Married<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/RcoxLDTCVsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/Vs2-hdfr8VE/s1600-h/IMG_2626.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5028885999846053570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_z8EEX51t__w/RcoxLDTCVsI/AAAAAAAAAAM/Vs2-hdfr8VE/s320/IMG_2626.jpg" border="0" /></a> So, for those of you that didn't actually think I'd ever really do it (getting married that is) I DID!! January 21, 2007...Peter and I got married. The kids were the best little flower girls and ring-bearers that I'd ever seen...and nothing could have been more beautiful than the entire day. I had family come in from everywhere as well as Peter's family. The reception was great too. Cathy (the hot one on the far left) came in Sunday morning and helped out with EVERYTHING...I don't know what I would've done without her there. I'll be posting more pictures so you all can admire them. Well, atleast for those of you who actually read this thing anymore!Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1166025165909269732006-12-13T09:48:00.000-06:002006-12-13T09:52:45.926-06:00To My Unborn ChildJust for this morning, I am going to step over<br /> the laundry, and pick you up and take you to the park to play.<br /> <br /> <br /> Just for this morning, I will leave the dishes<br /> in the sink, and let you teach me how to put that puzzle of<br /> yours together Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the<br /> telephone and keep the computer off, and sit with you in the<br /> backyard and blow bubbles.<br /> <br /> <br /> Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once,<br /> not even a tiny grumble when you scream and whine for the<br /> ice cream truck and I will buy you one if he comes by.<br />Just for this afternoon, I won't worry about<br /> what you are going to be when you grow up, or second guess<br /> every decision I have made where you are concerned.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me<br /> bake cookies, and I won't stand over you trying to fix them.<br /> Just for this afternoon, I will take us to<br /> McDonald's and buy us both a Happy Meal so you can have both toys.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> Just for this evening, I will hold you in my<br /> arms and tell you a story about how you were born and how much I<br /> love you. Just for this evening, I will let you splash in<br /> the tub and not get angry.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> Just for this evening, I will let you stay up<br /> late while we sit on the porch and count all the stars.<br /> Just for this evening, I will snuggle beside<br /> you for hours, and miss my favorite TV shows.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> Just for this evening when I run my finger<br /> through your hair as you pray, I will simply be grateful that God<br /> has given me the greatest gift ever given.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> I will think about the mothers And fathers who<br /> are searching for their missing children, the mothers and<br /> fathers who are visiting their children's graves instead of<br /> their bedroom and mothers and fathers who are in hospital rooms<br /> watching their children suffer senselessly, and screaming<br /> inside that they can't handle it anymore.<br /> <br /> <br /> And when I kiss you good night I will hold you<br /> a little tighter,<br /> a ittle longer. It is then, that I will thank<br /> God for you, and ask Him for nothing, except one more<br /> day.............Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1158527363614096092006-09-17T15:52:00.000-05:002006-09-17T16:09:23.630-05:00For The Children That Won't Come Home Tonight<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6797/1458/1600/uui878a4hf.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6797/1458/320/uui878a4hf.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p>So, here I am last night checking Myspace (No honey, I'm not addicted) when I noticed a bulletin that another friend had posted. I clicked on it and it was for an Amber Alert about a 7 day old baby girl that had been abducted from the hospital by a "nurse". I clicked on the link following the picture and in a matter of seconds was redirected to the website for Missing and Exploited Children. Anyone who knows me, knows that I am in love with all children. Children are like a magnet to me and I love being around them. I got curious as to just how many children were missing from in and around my part of Houston and came across millions of flyers, websites, advertisements and other links for missing children. Some, just as young as the little baby girl that had started my curious little mind wandering. So, in effort to ease my mind and emotions, I did the only possible thing I could do to help these parents and these organizations, I clicked the "Contribute Here" button and made a hefty little donation. The Center for Missing and Exploited Children helps find missing children and return them safely to their parents everyday with the help of other individuals, just like myself, whose curiousity is turned on by a simple bulletin on another website not even directly connected with them. Now, I know we can't just pack up and head out on a child huntin' spree, but we can contribute to these wonderful organizations that have the man-power and the resources to do just that. At the bottom of this post is a link to the same organization that I contributed to, and I ask all of you with children to do the same. I know we all have bills to pay and our own children to feed, clothe, and support, but ask yourself "What if my child was missing?" I know you would want the same support that this organization offers. So, even if it's just one dollar or five, it's the little things that count! God bless the children that have been ripped from their families and help return them home safe.</p><p> </p><p>Here is the link that I was talking about, just click it and I'll leave the rest to you!</p><p><a href="http://someoneismissing.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://someoneismissing.com/shared/missing-dove.jpg" width="100" height="74" alt="Do you or someone you know have someone that's missing? The site that will help you is SomeoneIsMissing.com" /></a></p>Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1155352982929095802006-08-11T22:12:00.000-05:002006-08-11T22:23:02.943-05:00Step-Mommy Needs a Day Off<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6797/1458/1600/000_1227.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6797/1458/320/000_1227.jpg" border="0" /></a> The kids have been home since Wednesday evening, along with Peter. At first, I was extremely happy to see them, and I missed the hell outta all three of them. After all, they are adorable. BUT that wore off quicker than cheap perfume on a hooker. I am SO ready for a day off, I'm about to pull my hair out. My feet hurt, my head is pounding (not sure if that is from the kids or the beers!) and I wanna scream. We usually only have the kids on the weekend, and that's all fine and dandy, but some issues have come up with their "mother" (imagine that) and we will have them for the next week. They will go to their Mother's on Saturday morning and we'll pick them up Sunday evening. She is having some kind of problem with some sort of shit, that the kids can't stay at the house, so it would be "a tremendous help to her if we could keep them for the week", her words, not mine. Fine, we're not going to tell her No. They are our kids for God's sake, but at the same time, she gets to run around for the last two weeks, no kids and responsibility free while we, ok I, get up at seven every morning do breakfast, clothes, hair, and teeth and then school. We must've shopped for 3 hours today for freakin' school supplies. I'm not regretting what I've got myself into AT ALL...I love the kids like they were my own, and I love Peter just as much. It is just going to be a rough road for the next couple of months. So, for tonight...the kids have been detoured to Peter for all their wants and needs, I've grabbed a beer, and I'm heading to the ONE spot in this house the kids are NOT ALLOWED...yep, you guessed it....that picture right there! Don't call me, cause I'm officially off duty for the evening.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1154839290975345192006-08-05T23:29:00.000-05:002006-08-05T23:41:30.996-05:00Step-Mommy's Week Off<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6797/1458/1600/000_1258.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6797/1458/320/000_1258.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />For the most part life around the Lance residence has been quite uneventful. With the exception of the ever-present ex-wife, that is. I'm glad we only have to deal with her on the weekends, and for the most part, she's OK. Now, don't get me wrong, she's not my best friend by any means, but I do have to play the happy little step-mommy role until the day comes when we have full custody of the kids and I can slam my door in her face. I must say Friday was a very stressful and eventful day. For all you parents out there, you know that the last week of July means summer is over, and it's time to get your butt in gear with school registrations, school supply-gettin', and the wonderful task of shopping for new clothes. I've considered myself lucky up until this point, because I didn't have to do any of that. Now, as my role of happy "house-wife" and "step-mommy dearest" seem to be increasing everyday, I find myself browsing our local Kohl's for good deals and clothes the kids won't easily wear out. I'm a master now of dodging other shoppers, finding great deals, and just barely getting to the check -out line before that lady with 6 kids in tow, 3 shopping carts, and an attitude from hell slips in and wants to know "How long is this sale going on?", as the poor under-paid teen checking her out rolls her eyes, pops her gum loudly, and proclaims "I don't know, I just work here." I know I am only 19 myself, 20 within a few short weeks, but I have the maturity level of a 30 year old. Don't believe me? Ask my Mommy. Either way, as long as the kids are happy, I don't have to shop anymore, and Grama will pick up the rest, I'm happy. So, here's a picture of the two little gremlins, and I hope they are having lots of fun with their Daddy in Minnesota.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1154049895314089842006-07-27T19:57:00.000-05:002006-07-27T20:28:38.416-05:00The House I Call a Home<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6797/1458/1600/000_1127.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6797/1458/320/000_1127.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />From day one, Peter and I have made decisions together, side-by-side, from the start. Just last week we talked about putting tile throughout the entire house, and even picked out which tile we wanted. Today, after a rather disturbing and eye-opening conversation with Clay's teacher, Peter decided to start ripping up the carpet in the back hallway. Did he ask or inform me of his intentions? No. Am I upset about it? A little. I left to go get coffee, and was gone a total of twenty minutes. When I returned, the carpet had been completely ripped up and there is nothing but cement in it's place. Bare floor. That's it. My first thought was, "Oh my god, the kids will be here tomorrow and be walking on these bare, cement floors." I knew why he has all of the sudden decided to do this. He's compensating for not being able to fix his youngest child. Clay has some emotional issues that need to be worked out, and Peter is at a loss as to what to do about them. We've decided to have Clay start seeing a therapist to start working out his anger issues. I know Peter feels like he can't fix Clay, so he has to fix the house. An even trade-off? Not particularly, but it makes him feel better. I know we've both got a long way to go with working out issues among ourselves, our relationship, and our children. Are the children mine biologically? No. Are they mine because I am with their father? Yes. I knew when Peter and I got together, the children were included. I love the kids to death, and I love them like they were mine. I want the best for them, and I don't like not being able to help Clay overcome whatever it is that is bothering him and causing so much anger within him. I know he's only three, and not quite old enough or mature enough to express himself in a healthy, violence free way, but at this point, if we don't do something soon, he is going to be kicked out of daycare. Do I want our three year old being kicked out of a prestigous daycare? No. I feel as if I am torn between the two. On one hand, he isn't my child and maybe I shouldn't be worried about him, but on the other hand, Peter and I make decisions together and Peter asks me daily about what I think. We, as a family, need to help Clay. Clay needs a very stuctured, disciplined enviroment where he can learn, and express himself freely. The answer to that, you ask? Anger management. I am willing to bet my life that Clay is emotionally devastated by Peter and his mother's divorce. He doesn't know how to talk about it, so he resorts to hitting and temper tantrums when he is upset. We'll see how everything turns out. All in all, Clay is a great kid. He's loving, and very smart. Wish me luck.....Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1153623151482666432006-07-22T21:43:00.000-05:002006-07-22T21:56:33.383-05:00Shhh....The Kids Are Sleeping........<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6797/1458/1600/000_1191.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/6797/1458/320/000_1191.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Ok, so now that dinner has been eaten, bubble baths taken, pajamas put on, and two very energetic rugrats have been laid side by side to watch Lemony Snickets: A Series of Unfortunate Events, I find the time now to relay my day to you. Since this morning I've been unpacking boxes, putting my kitchen together (which looks very good), and hanging various pictures and knick-knacks around this 2,987 square foot home of mine. It is all coming together quite well. We decided this afternoon to rip up the carpet in the back of the house and lay tile throughout all of it. Maybe we'll leave the carpet in the kids rooms, not sure yet. I still need to get the curtains picked out and put up in my room and the kitchen needs some curtains hella bad. I'm just so damn worn out already. The kids have to be up early so their Mother can pick them up for church, and after that you can bet your sweet ass I'll be crawling back into bed to enjoy the rest of my lazy kid-free day. I don't hate having the kids here, I love their laughter and running around like a loon in the backyard with them. I hate the sore knee, back, and feet for three days after they are here. The seven-thirty alarm shouldn't be too bad since I've already laid the kids' clothes out, and all I have to do is Ally's hair and Clay's too. Breakfast should be easy enough since cereal is just about the only thing they'll eat that early. Well, it's 9:45 and I need a long, hot bath and my soft bed. Until next time....Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1153586455979452702006-07-22T11:11:00.000-05:002006-07-22T11:40:56.080-05:00The Mothering Side of MeFor those of you that know me, also know that my boyfriend has two kids. Ally and Clay come here on the weekends, and I'm forced to throw on the "adult face" and be another authority figure to them. Now, don't get me wrong, I like doing it. We went outside and played last night in the backyard, and I got all of my frustrations out by throwing a big exercise ball at their heads. Did it hurt them? No. Were they laughing and begging me to keep doing it? Yes. It must have been the funniest thing in the world to all of us, because by the time we got in, my stomach hurt from all the laughing. As soon as we came in, it was bath time. I started their bath water and commenced to chasing them around the house to get them in the tub. Peter just sat back and watched, as he generally does. I really enjoy doing the whole motherly-thing, but by the time Sunday rolls around and the kids are on their way back to their Mother's house, I'm praying for her to show up. Is that wrong? No. They aren't my kids, but I treat them as if they were. I guess I'm just a little too into my "Meghan-time". We got up this morning and Peter decided he was going to take the kids to Denny's, because that is their absolute favorite restaurant. I am going to sit this one out. The kids need some one-on-one Daddy-time, and I was just as content watching t.v., or sitting here typing my latest happenings to all of you. I got up and made sure the kids' clothes matched and put Ally's hair up, and then watched with great joy as the three of them walked out of the door. Yes, alone at last, and the only thing I hear is the hum of my tower and Mr. Big in the background singing about how much he wants to be the next to be with me. Life here in suburban hell couldn't be much sweeter at the moment. The dogs are, for once, being quiet and the cat is content as well sitting on the table beside me. My life, it looks like, has turned into that of a happily-married thirty year old woman. Well, with the hot body of a nineteen year old. Its not that bad, afterall. My Saturday morning has been turned into re-runs of Bill and Mandy on ToonDisney, with the promise of a full marathon of Lilo and Stitch following. The kids have returned from their breakfast with Peter, and Clay, the youngest, has resolved himself to torturing the cat. Excuse me folks, while I, for the millionth time today, remind Clay why it is not nice to pull the cat's tail or try and put her in the the pantry. More from SurburbiaHell later...after the kids have eaten dinner and taken baths, and it's "Meghan-time" all over again.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1153446011647116462006-07-20T20:33:00.000-05:002006-07-20T20:40:11.646-05:00April 26, 2006As I sit here watching on of those sappy-ass-why-me Lifetime movies that we all seem to be stuck on from time to time, I began to wonder what exactly love is. Is love necessarily limited to one man and one woman? Is it limited to one certain race? Does love exsist outside of this planet? Is love ultimately bound by the human race? I've heard of love hurting, and I've experienced enough for all of us, but what exactly is that drive, the need, the want for love? For companionship, the trust that we so desperately seek out from the opposite sex? Time after time we get hurt, yet we pick ourselves up and eventually start searching for the next suitor. Maybe its the never-ending, ever-present need to be needed, want to be wanted, and the hope that someone else out there in this very same spherical world, somebody is searching for the same, exact characteristics in a person. We invest great time and effort into one person when we feel such a person is worthy of that time and energy. We give one hundred percent of ourselves, and our heart, trust and loyalty; in return, we expect the same. When those feelings are returned, that connection is one of the most magical and happiest times in ones life. More often than not, two people hardly ever have that moment and get to share it forever.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1153445520321563522006-07-20T20:20:00.000-05:002006-07-20T20:32:00.343-05:00April 25, 2006It seems all I seem to write in here these days is shit about my past, relationships, and the stress of my job. I cried for 2 hours straight yesterday; and I still could not tell you why. Well, I can half-ass explain it. I found out that Josh's new girlfriend is pregnant. I have this overwhelming sense of betrayal, loss, and regret. A part of me wants to be in her shoes, but a bigger part of me remembers what a fuck-up he is. There are so many things I miss from our relationship, but these things are not something that someone else couldn't provide. I can clearly recall three past relationships, after Josh, that I have purposely wrecked in hopes of his coming back. Will he ever come back? I hope not. Do I want him back? Yeah, like I want a gaping hole in my head. I won't deny missing him from time to time, but I've yet to figure out if its him I miss, or the companionship. I am almost one hundred percent positive that it's the companionship. The hardest thing was having to adjust to a brand new apartment, job, and bills all of the sudden with nobody to share it all with: and being with someone so long, and waking up beside that person everyday, and then one day realizing they aren't there. They aren't going to be there. Three years was a big chunk of my life, and everyone knows that you don't get time back. I honestly believe that my biggest regret is the wasted time. I could've done so much, and had so much more if things had turned out differently. If I knew then, what I know now, things would be extremely different. Even after Josh, once I started talking to Shanon, he was the most perfect man I'd ever met. Or so I thought at the time. Compared to Josh, he was a saint. He did and would do anything for me. I, being the commit-a-phobe that I am, blew that. We lost touch and by the time we got back in touch, it was too late for either of us to do anything about it. He's got a baby on the way, with a girl he doesn't like and I'm not going to put myself in a situation thats bound to cause all parties involved, heartache. It's not fair to either one of us for him to be running back and forth between us. I sent him a text message today and told him that I'd leave him alone, and if he ever needed anything that I'd be here for him. This place is way too small for us not to run into each other somewhere down the road. Especially since we have mutual friends. I guess everything will work out in the end and I just need to quit worrying about it. Something has got to give sooner or later. Hopefully, sooner than later.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1153444796973103202006-07-20T20:17:00.000-05:002006-07-20T20:19:56.973-05:00April 24, 2006The stress and bullshit from this past week has been unreal. It seems that more and more these days I'm doing more crying than smiling. I'm tired of forcing a smile because crying shows some kind of weakness. I put on some big charade of happiness and stability when in all reality, I'm more broken down than I've ever been. I'm so tired of feeling like shit all thie time. I wanna be back to the "old Meghan", if there is such a thing. I don't want to take a pill for the rest of my life. What can't life be as simple as it was when I was younger? Where did all this stress and bullshit come from?Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15677550.post-1153443751803042422006-07-20T19:59:00.000-05:002006-07-20T20:02:31.803-05:00So LowI can't stop myself from writing<br />All these sad poems about you<br />All I recall is the endless fighting<br />And the simple things you could not do<br /><br />Sometimes your memory gets me down<br />I let myself get upset and blue<br />I remember your endless nights on the town<br />And wanting, more than anything, to strangle you<br /><br />Most days I don't recall<br />Even the sound of your voice<br />In my mind I put up a wall<br />Behind it being my final choice<br /><br />The choice for you to leave me<br />To pack your shit and go<br />Together we just weren't meant to be<br />You made me feel so low.Mommy Meghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16002387574736085095noreply@blogger.com0